So Long: Bad Boy Next Door

by Kelley Harvey

He takes my hands and kisses the backs of both of them. “I care about your life, Kelsey. You can talk to me. I want you to talk to me.”

  I let out a big sigh. “Thank you, really. That’s sweet of you. But—”

  Adam backs me against the front door, his body hot against mine. “But nothing. I’m here. Don’t shut me out because of one mistake without a stupid condom.”

  It might be the confrontation with Matt. It might be Adam’s timing. It might be that I’m a horny bitch who craves Adam’s cock more than I should. But for whatever reason, I toss out any ideas of holding him at a distance as I throw my arms around him, meeting his kiss.

  I stand, pushing my desk chair back as I stretch my arms above my head. A couple of side bends and a roll of my head in a circle each way help loosen the stiff muscles I have from sitting for hours, clacking away at the keyboard.

  A high-pitched giggle erupts from outside. I push my fingers through the blinds, opening them enough to catch a glimpse of pink swishing by.

  I yank the cord, and the blinds draw up. Clarissa sits on Adam’s shoulders, hanging on to his ears like reins as she guides him left and right at her whim. Spike bounces around Adam’s legs, almost tripping him as he gallops across the yard like an idiot horse.

  At three and a half, Clarissa has yet to speak her first words, but she giggles like a maniac every time Adam pretends to knock into something—the car at the curb, the tree, the bush next to the house. Suddenly, his face is at my office window, his nose smooshed against it. His tongue slides up the glass, and then he kisses it, giving me a wink as my daughter squeals in delight.

  Tears sting the backs of my eyes, though I don’t know why. It’s lovely that he’s so sweet with her. Nice that he plays with her and doesn’t seem to mind that she doesn’t talk yet.

  It’s been five weeks of sneaking around Clarissa’s schedule and fucking like rabbits.

  We’ve screwed our way through several boxes of condoms, and Adam hasn’t had any difficulty finding satisfaction since that time right here in my office. I’ll never look at this desk again without thinking of Adam pounding away inside me, breaking through his barriers. And me, knowing that I was the one who helped him do it.

  The thought warms me and sends tingles to my girly parts.

  He texts. He calls. He sneaks in after Clarissa has gone to bed and leaves before she wakes in the morning. Every time he smiles at Clarissa, all the times she grins back at him like he’s hung the stars in the sky just for her, and each time he speaks my name, I get this smooshy feeling in the middle of my chest. And the more it happens, the more I know—I have to stop this.

  My flood of words hasn’t ceased since Adam and I—well, since whatever this is happened, and I’m grateful. However, I can’t do this any longer. As much as I enjoy Adam, as much as he makes me feel things I’ve not felt in so long, and even as much as Clarissa seems to love him, the time has come.

  My stomach squeezes. I plop back into my seat and lean forward, waiting for this recurring uneasy and sorta queasy feeling to pass.

  I lie in his strong arms every night, wondering when it will end. I wake in the mornings with a spiked cannonball weighing heavily in my gut, until it makes me sick enough that I puke trying to relieve the stress of waiting for him to walk away.

  Something has to be done because after what Matt and Marcy put me through, I—I can’t go through that kind of pain again.

  And Adam? There is no doubt in my mind that this man will obliterate me when he leaves.

  And he will leave.

  Eventually, they all leave.

  SEVENTEEN

  My phone vibrates on my desk. I pick it up and swipe my finger across Leigh’s smile at the bottom of my screen.

  “Hey. How’s the writing going?”

  “Pretty well, actually.”

  Leigh squeals. “Yay! Finally. I knew you could do it.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate your belief in me. Adam has turned out to be a great muse.” My stomach churns, and I let out a sigh. “But—”

  “But?”

  “It’s time I cut him loose.”

  “What? Why ever would you do that?” Her voice sounds positively horrified.

  “I think he’s with me for the wrong reasons, and we’re heading in different directions.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Oh, jeeze Louise.

  I can’t tell her that I’m the first woman with whom Adam’s been able to climax since his injury. It seems—wrong somehow. Personal things like that shouldn’t be blabbed, even to best friends.

  If she knew, then she’d understand that Adam has likely only been with me for as long as he has because he’s probably afraid he might not find release with someone else. And of course he’ll stick close—for a while, anyway.

  But I don’t want him hanging around until he gets brave enough to try with some other woman. I want a guy to be with me because he can’t stand the idea of life without me.

  I flop into my chair. “It means he’s not looking for the same things I should be looking for. He doesn’t have any desire to have a long-term relationship. I’m only a convenient fuck-buddy. And Clarissa is completely enchanted with him. She’ll be heartbroken when he moves on.”

  “She’ll be, or you’ll be? And how do you even know he doesn’t want the same things as you? Have you asked?”

  I struggle to find the words as I rub the ache at my temples.

  A long silence is broken by Leigh’s exasperated sigh. “You haven’t asked him, have you?”

  “No. But that would make him feel trapped. I don’t want any man to ever feel trapped. I want to be with someone who wants to be with me because they want to be with me, not because I pushed them into something they don’t really want.”

  “Why would he feel trapped by your asking if he wants a real relationship?”

  “Look, he’s told me in the past that he doesn’t want kids. I have a kid. And not just any kid. I have one that needs—extra.”

  “Sounds like a massive load of shit to me.”

  “Well, either way. I have to let him go. I need to find someone who wants the same things I do—a loving, long-term relationship. And I can’t be fucking him while I’m dating other guys and trying to find the man of my dreams, now can I?”

  I wait, but the only answer I get is Leigh’s groan of frustration.

  Finally, she says, “Look, you know I love you. Whatever you do, I’m behind you one hundred percent. Okay, maybe eighty percent on this one. You know what I mean. But—”

  “There’s always a but.” My shoulders slump.

  “But, it seems to me that if Adam makes you happy right now, then maybe you should take what you can get. It’s more than some have.” She coughs extra-hard, probably to indicate herself.

  “You might be right. But I have to think of Clarissa.”

  “Don’t fuck yourself out of something amazing because you’re too scared to see where it might lead.”

  My mind scrambles to find the words that will convince her I know what I’m doing. Maybe I’m trying to convince me too. “I’m not afraid—really. I have to make a wiser choice this time around. I made a terrible mistake with Matt. I won’t do it again. I have to be smarter. Lean more on my mind, less on my wants and stupid wishes.”

  My mouth waters, but not in a good way—more like it’s preparing to wash itself once my stomach is done turning inside out.

  I toss up my breakfast into the toilet, flushing it down along with every last shred of doubt I had that I’m doing the right thing. Staying in this relationship, not knowing when Adam will bolt, is making me physically ill.

  I lie on the floor, pressing my forehead against the silent porcelain. The porcelain that doesn’t judge. Porcelain that is, thankfully, clean because I’ve been feeling weird and scrubbing everything in my life. As though that will rid me of all problems. If it’s clean, it must be all right.

  Dragging my phone from my back pocket, I do what I’ve nee
ded to do for a week and have put off because I’m not only a coward, but also because I’ve not been ready to give him up. Even though it’s the right thing to do.

  I text Adam.

  -Can I see you?-

  I have just enough time to hurl once more before his reply comes back.

  -Come over tonight around seven. I’ll make dinner.-

  The word dinner conjures thoughts of food, which induces another round of vomit.

  Guilt puke.

  Who the hell has ever puked because of guilt?

  Me.

  If ever there was anyone who’d puke out of guilt, it would be me.

  -No. Don’t go to all that trouble. It was my idea. Let me treat you.-

  I drag myself to the sink and brush my teeth.

  My phone vibrates from the floor.

  The screen lights with Adam’s text.

  -Just come over here. Seven. Don’t be late.-

  I rinse and lean over the counter, staring at my haggard reflection. My hair is stringy. My skin is sallow. I need another shower.

  Chloe jumps up onto the counter, tail swishing, big green eyes gazing at me as though to berate me for my bad behavior.

  “Stop looking at me like that. It’s for the best.”

  She gives a loud meow as if to say, “Are you stupid?”

  * * *

  I swallow hard as I raise my hand to knock on Adam’s door.

  He answers, a kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder and an oven mitt adorning one hand.

  He leans down and lays a soft kiss on me, nipping my bottom lip before he lets go. “Come on in. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

  The smell of grilling steak permeates the air and my stomach clenches. I flatten my hand over it. Now is not the time to let my nerves get the better of me.

  I can do this. It’s best for all of us.

  Adam heads toward his kitchen. “Where’s Pipsqueak?”

  “She’s spending the night with Leigh.”

  He stops abruptly, and I almost run into him, but he turns and catches me in his strong arms. “Ah. Even better.”

  His mouth comes down, and his tongue glides along mine. An immediate rush of warmth makes a throbbing beeline to my pussy. I sink against him and devour the feel of his arms around me.

  This is the last time he’ll hold me.

  That thought is almost enough to make me change my mind right here and now.

  No. I have to be strong.

  I push away, patting his pecs. “Hello to you, too.”

  Choose wisely, dumbass. Choose wisely.

  Adam’s brow furrows, but he returns to the stove rather than call me on my weird behavior. “Since the Pipsqueak didn’t come with you, make sure you take that sack home with you. It’s just some things I saw when I was out getting dinner stuff that I thought she’d like.”

  I follow him to the kitchen. I peek into the pink gift bag perched on the edge of the island. Colorful gumballs, a tiny paddle-ball, a yo-yo, and a miniature coloring book stare at me from the bottom of the sack, accusing me of treachery.

  My throat tightens.

  His table is set with linen napkins and wine glasses and even a candle adorns the center, flanked by two small bud vases stuffed with wildflowers.

  I close my eyes, dragging in a deep breath.

  Good Lord. He did all this work to make a nice dinner, and I’m about to tell him to take a hike.

  Adam spins the grill tongs on the end of his finger, catching them mid-air when they almost fall. Then he nabs a bottle from the ice bucket. “Wine?”

  I swallow the lump in my throat, my stomach knotting itself thrice over.

  The last thing I need to do is add alcohol. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

  When we sit to eat, I lay my napkin in my lap and smooth it over my thighs, then I pick it up and turn it the other direction and do it again.

  Adam casts me a wary look. “Did you kick Spike on your way inside?”

  What the hell? “Why would I do that?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. You kinda look like you kicked a puppy and are feeling bad about it.”

  I cut a piece of my steak and shove it into my mouth, buying some time.

  Eventually, Adam’s plate is empty, and mine looks like an armadillo has been rooting around in my food.

  He stands and reaches for my plate. I snatch it away and rush to the sink, dumping the contents down the disposal and flipping the switch as though I’m in a race.

  Adam comes up behind me, his warm body enveloping mine from behind as his arms come around my waist and he pulls me against him. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  Leigh’s words drift through my mind. “How do you even know he doesn’t want the same things as you? Have you asked?

  He gives me a light squeeze as if to remind me he’s waiting.

  I pull in a deep breath, preparing to make one last-ditch effort to salvage what was lost before it started.

  “I have a question—it’s not a trick, and I’m not necessarily talking about me or right now, but…”

  He turns me to face him. “But?”

  “Do you think you’ll ever settle down? Get married? Have kids? Or would you even want to?”

  In less time than it takes a flea to jump, he’s on the other side of the kitchen, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Sorry. I was just curious.” I let out a ragged breath. “I—I think you and I are heading in two different directions.”

  His grin is as charming as ever. “The only place I’m heading is to the bedroom, once the dishes are in the sink.”

  “Yeah. I know. That’s the problem.” I force a smile.

  His brow furrows. “It wasn’t a problem the last forty or fifty times we’ve—you know.”

  I lift one shoulder. “I know. But I have Clarissa. I should be looking for a real relationship, not just someone to curl my toes.”

  “I curl your toes, eh?” The mischief in his voice deepens my guilt.

  I shake my head. “You’re a mess.”

  “But a toe-curling mess?”

  Heat sweeps to my cheeks as I roll my eyes and let out a sigh. “Yes. But that isn’t enough.”

  His mood shifts, and his gaze drops to the floor. “Am I ever settling down or getting married? I don’t know. Having kids? That’s an even bigger mystery. I can’t tell you where I’ll be this time next month, much less five or ten years down the road. I’m taking life one breath at a time.”

  The cold, familiar hand of reality grabs my heart, slowing it and filling me with regret that I’m not in a different place in life—a place that would allow me to be along for the ride. I wish I had the freedom to take life as it comes, not worrying about the future, mine or anyone else’s. But I don’t have that freedom. When Clarissa came along, that was the end of that.

  I have to put her first. It’s my only choice. One I made when I chose to become a mother.

  “I really like you. I do. You’re a great guy. And Clarissa really loves you—and—and that’s why we need to stop this.”

  “You want to stop seeing me? Because you really like me, and Clarissa loves me?”

  “Yes.” The weight in my stomach grows.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t get it.”

  I twist my fingers behind my back. “I’m sorry. I have to do what’s best for her—and me. And—I think—I need to find someone who’s looking for the same things I am. A family. A future.”

  He holds up his hands with his fingers splayed as if he’s letting go of something. “If that’s what you want. I’d never stand in the way of your happiness. And I can’t make promises for the future. I can’t even make promises for next week. So, by all means—do whatever you need to do.”

  In the span of a blink, his demeanor changes again. It’s like a shutter slams over his charm, and a fence goes up around him, right before my eyes.

  But he seems to shake it off and grins. “Still friends, right?”

  “We�
�re neighbors. Of course, we’ll be friends.” I force a smile.

  “And we can still do friend things?”

  “I have no idea what friend things are, but sure. We’ll do friend things.”

  He steps around the island and wraps me in his embrace. “Okay. Friends. Friends that cuddle, friends that fuck. Friends that hold each other through the night.”

  My nostrils flare and my eyes sting as I shake my head. “No, Adam. Just regular friends. I can’t be fucking you and trying to find the man of my dreams.”

  Now that I’ve said it. Now that it’s out of my mouth and can’t be taken back…my heart screams that I’ve made a terrible mistake.

  But it’s done.

  I won’t flake out and suddenly change my mind.

  Adam tightens his arms around me, holding me together.

  He always makes me feel like I’m the only person on the planet he wants to touch—this is what I’ll miss, maybe more than the sex.

  Maybe.

  EIGHTEEN

  I shove the little white stick into the trash and cover it with some wadded up tissue. It’s not like Clarissa could tell anyone, even if she does see it. But I still have this overbearing need to hide my folly.

  After brushing my teeth for the sixth time today, I finish washing up. The nausea hasn’t abated. Of course, the two blue lines on that stick prove it’s not nerves, nor is it an awful stomach bug. I couldn’t get so lucky.

  Sad when a person wishes for a horrible virus.

  I’ve hidden in here as long as I can. Clarissa can’t be left to her own devices for too long. I let out a sigh and open the door.

  Clarissa waits in the hallway. She’s got her pink floaty around her waist and her beach towel draped over her shoulders. Her sandals are on the wrong feet, but hey, at least this time, she didn’t get the swimsuit on backward.

  I smile, because, at this point, I’ll take any positives I can get. Except the positive on the pregnancy test—that one, I could do without.

  She grabs my hand and drags me toward the living room, her grin just about eating her ears.

  “I’m coming, Sweetness. Give me a minute.”